


I'll Be Your First

by braedens



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Malia's first christmas, Pack Feels, basically i love malia tate, lots of tooth-rotting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 21:16:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2788046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braedens/pseuds/braedens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malia doesn’t remember ever celebrating Christmas, so Stiles gives her a holiday she’ll never forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Your First

**Author's Note:**

> My submission to Harper, Jodie, and Kelsey's Secret Santa!
> 
> for my cutie pie shahnila (mahzerunners): happy holidays, and all my love to you babe! <3

Malia has yet to understand the concepts of holidays. When she was a coyote, she obviously never needed to, and anything before the car crash was lost memories to her. She has vague memories of her family, and even those scar her. And as much as she loves her dad, being around him just reminds her of a lot of emotions she doesn’t understand.

It’s when she’s with the pack at Stiles house that she even remembers what Christmas is. Everyone is sprawled either on the floor or the sofa, Malia tucked in to Stiles’ side with his arm around her, Scott and Kira sitting on the other side of the sofa, hands entwined. Lydia and Allison snuggling up against each other on the loveseat, gossiping quietly with Isaac sitting on the floor in front of them, and Derek, Erica, and Boyd sprawled on the floor in front the television. A cartoon is playing on the television, one the group of them got excited for and called “Charlie Brown”, Malia not bothering asking what is was or why it seemed to brighten them up.

They all sit, watching the show, and a scene plays where all the characters go to Charlie’s house to exchange gifts, and Kira speaks up. “We should celebrate Christmas together, guys. Exchange gifts, make cookies, decorate a tree, have a party. It would be fun!” The whole pack agrees and starts a rapture of talking, discussing plans and activities. Malia doesn’t understand why, but she feels uncomfortable all of a sudden, and she remembers this feeling to be with being out of place. She shifts in her spot next to Stiles until his hand falls off her shoulder and she sits up.

“So, everyone agrees? Christmas party at my house?” Lydia says, and when everyone starts to agree, all their eyes shift to Malia, who still hasn’t said a word.

She takes a chance with the question that’s been bugging her. “What’s Christmas?”

Light scoffs chitter in the living room, but when they realize she was being sincere, everyone’s eyes grow wide and bore into her. It’s Stiles who places a hand on her arm.

“Malia… you don’t know what Christmas is?”

She shakes her head.

“Don’t you remember celebrating it with your family?” Scott asks from the other side of the couch.

“Well, I don’t remember a whole lot from before I was a coyote, so no. What is it?”

“It’s a holiday!” Kira says, her smile eager.

Malia’s brows furrow. “Didn’t we just have one of those?”

“Honey, that was Thanksgiving.” Lydia adds, rolling her eyes.

“There’s more than one holiday?” Malia asks with a groan.

“Yeah, but this one is the best holiday!” Stiles says. “It’s about presents, and family, and lots of pretty lights and food, and a fat guy with a beard in a red suit.”

“It’s also about the birth of Jesus Christ, you know.” Lydia snaps.

“But mostly the fat guy.” Stiles says, winking at Malia.

“That’s great. But I’m not going to the party.” Malia said, standing up from her spot on the sofa. As muc has she could hear their enthusiasm, it didn’t mask the smell of what she knew they were all giving off: pity. They all felt sympathy for her, and she hated it. Who cares if she didn’t understand a stupid holiday? It’s not that important. “I’m leaving now.” She said, already half way to the front door.

She was already halfway down the driveway before she heard Stiles running and stumbling after her.

“Malia, slow down, god, wait!” he stopped in front of her, keeping her from walking.

“Stiles, move.”

“I don’t understand, what’s wrong?” he asked, catching his breath, his eyes racing over her. “Did I say something?”

Her tongue rolled in her mouth before letting out a breath. “I’m still trying to understand everything that’s supposed to be normal, but sometimes I feel overwhelmed. I don’t have those memories like you guys do. I don’t get why these things make you all feel so happy, and why you all feel bad for me that I don’t understand.”

Stiles lips parted and closed again. “Malia-“

“See? You’re feeling bad for me again!”

“How do you even know?”

“You reek of pity, Stiles.”

He shut his mouth again. Normally, Malia would always trust Stiles to make her feel better, even if she didn’t understand, but for that moment she just wanted to leave.

“I’m going home Stiles. It’s okay.” Malia was already stepping away from him and starting a run so that by the time he could turn around and argue, she was gone.

* * *

 

After the weekend, Malia assumed that her friends would continue to pressure on, and she had a plan to avoid them at any cost. But strangely enough, they acted as if nothing had happened. At the pack meetings, business went on as usual. Lydia still tutored her over break like she promised so that, god forbid, Malia wouldn’t fall behind in Trigonometry. Kira, Scott, and Allison didn’t smell like sympathy anymore. But strangest of all, Stiles was still weird, old Stiles.

From past experiences, Stiles was always the first one to try and fix thimgs when she was on edge, whether I was his fault or not. He was persistent, too- she learned that from their first fight. But now, he almost didn’t care. She was glad for it, really. The last thing she wanted was to have a reason to want to avoid Stiles, but there was a part of her that wondered if maybe he’d stopped caring about her.

It was a crazy thought, she had no idea why she thought of it anyway.

A few days passed, and Malia had been spending way too much time with her dad at her house. His intentions were always good; he always wanted to make sure she was okay and was cared for, probably to make up for all the years he assumed she was dead. But sometimes the smothering was suffocating.

She had slipped out of the house when he had fallen asleep, not sure of where she planned on going. She ended up in Beacon Square, attracted by the lights and the soothing music. She walked around the small shops and local restaurants, all decorated with lots of colored lights and bows, and a lot of pictures of decorated pine trees, for some reason. And there was pictures of a man; fat, in a red suit, and a white beard, some of the pictures portraying him on a red sled with deer with antlers pulling it.

“So Stiles wasn’t joking.” She mumbled to herself, taking in the decorations.

Malia had never felt so much warmth in her body before. She didn’t know why, but seeing decorations and hearing the music that said that word over and over again; “Christmas”, she could feel the heat run through her veins. She didn’t even remember that she had stopped walking, only to be roused when she felt a tickle in her nose, and then sneezed.

And sneezed again.

And again.

She looked around, frustration starting to wash over her, when her nose led her eyes to look above her, and spotted a small plant with red berries hanging from a beam.

“What a dumb holiday.” She muttered, starting to walk back home. But she came to a stop not a second later when she noticed a shop next to her, with wood carvings in the window.

* * *

 

Today was the day before that holiday, which Malia had just found of it had a real name: Christmas Eve. Even as she heard it, it aggravated her. Why have a day to celebrate a holiday before the actual holiday? It was ridiculous.

She was sitting at the dining room table of her house, her dad busying himself at the refrigerator, a chorus of sighs and grumps dissolving into the contents of the fridge. He insisted on cooking lunch for both of them, probably one of his many ways to try and render their connection back. And she appreciated it, actually. Her dad wasn’t one of the many who could refrain from showing to much emotion, though that might be at the fault of Malia and the fact that he thought his entire family was dead for years.

She stood from her seat at the table, waiting for him to acknowledge that she was trying to get his attention. As if noticing her presence, he looked up from the door and closed it. “Malia, what’s wrong?”

She shifted on her feet for a few seconds. “Stay right here.” She said, and retreated out of the kitchen and around the hallway to her room.

“Uh, yeah, I’m not going anywhere?” he called after her. After a few moments, she emerged back, a little black paper bag stuffed with white tissue paper. Malia walked right in front of her dad and extended her hand out, giving it to him. His eyes glanced down, and then back at her in curiosity, and slowly reached for it.

“I don’t really understand Christmas and how it works, but I know you’re supposed to give people you care about gifts. So I guess here’s your gift.”

He unstuffed the bag of wrapping paper and reached a hand in to pull out a small wooden figurine. It couldn’t have been bigger than his palm, but it was still strong and sturdy in shape. It had a flat bottom, and carved on top was an adult male, holding hands with a little girl with long hair. Both of their faces etched vaguely to look happy and smiley. And on the bottom piece, it had the words “Like father, like daughter.” carved into it and painted in.

“I got it from a wood shop in town,” Malia chimed in when the silence had dragged on too long. “This one smelled really good, like oak. And I kind of remember mom collecting figurines, too. Glass ones. But I thought you’d like this one.”

She could see her father’s eyes glistening like he was about to cry, and she let out an exasperated sigh. “Dad, don’t cry, don’t.” But her words cut off in the air as he pulled her to him and enveloped her in a hug, his uneven breathing a sure sign of his crying. He did that a lot, she noticed.

When he finally pulled away, he moved his hands to his eyes, drying them off. “Thank you, Malia. It’s a great gift.” And as she could hear that his heart didn’t skip a beat, she allowed herself to smile.

That’s when her phone went off.

She looked over at the table where her phone was vibrating, and she could already tell who it was before picking it up. Only one person ever actually called her besides her dad.

“What, Stiles?”

“Come outside!” he said, and his voice sounded more enthusiastic than it would be if something bad was actually happening.

“Why?”

“Stop asking questions, you’re stalling. Just come outside, and dress warmly!”

“It’s 70 degrees out today.”

“Get your cute little coyote butt out here before I drag it out myself.”

Malia raised her brows at that, not even bothering to respond.

“Please?” Stiles sounded more at a loss.

“Fine.” and she hung up the phone. She looked over at her dad, who was now nose deep in the china cabinet, moving plates around so that he could put the figurine right dab in the middle.

“That was Stiles. I think he’s outside waiting for me. And I don’t know why, but I feel like I won’t be back real soon.” She said in an irksome tone, grabbing her coat off the hook by the door.

Her dad stood straight and smiled at her. “It’s alright. Have fun sweetie. Be back before dark.“

 

Malia wasn’t entirely sure what to expect when she walked outside, but the last thing was definitely to see a horse-drawn carriage in front of her yard with Stiles sitting behind the man reigning them. He had a ridiculous smile from ear to ear as he had his arms outstretched from his stand on the carriage.

“Merry Christmas!” he cheered, his excitement overtaking him. Stiles jumped out from the seat and sprinted to her porch to greet her, his grin never wavering.

“It’s not Christmas yet.” She retorted, still looking at the carriage.

His face settled into a smirk. “It’s Christmas Eve, it’s the same thing, really.”

“I don’t get it, why did you do this?” Malia crossed her arms, glaring at Stiles, still trying to piece whatever was going on. She didn’t even like horses; they smelled atrocious and it seemed like a way bigger gesture than needed. She almost didn’t notice when Stiles uncrossed her arms and took one of her hands in his. “You said you don’t remember ever celebrating Christmas, so I want to give you a first Christmas you’ll remember forever.”

The smirk had smoothed from his face, replaced by a look of fondness, one that overtook Malia. She didn’t really have anything to reply back to him with, and Stiles must have taken that as a good thing, since he leaned in to kiss her cheek, causing her cheeks to grow warm. “Come on,” he beckoned, pulling her off the porch by her hand, towards the carriage, “I have more surprises for you.”

* * *

 

They rode the carriage through the town, pressed against Stiles side with his hand in hers, fingers entwined, and he was talking a mile a minute, explaining certain holidays and traditions, pointing out decorations, and giving them purpose and meaning to her. It seemed insignificant, but to Malia, knowledge meant the world to her. She’d never admit it, but she thrived to be a regular teenager, to be able to adapt to social norms without being pressured. Stiles was the only one who was patient enough to help her, but he was also the only one who knew so much.

Eventually, the carriage pulled up in front of Stiles’ house, and he even got out before her (more like fell out), just so he could open the carriage door for her. “What are we doing at your house?” she asked, jumping off the last step to the ground.

“What’s the point of a surprise if you keep asking what it is?” he replied, taking her hand in his again, leading her to his front door. Before he even opened it, her nose was struck with the aroma of cinnamon and sugar, and hints of chocolate. And, if she focused hard enough, the fresh scent of pine.

He opened the door, and Malia was greeted by a chorus of voices; her friend, her pack, all stood around the living room and foyer, all smiles and bright faces, chanting holiday cheer at her. She took a step in and looked around at her friends; Scott, Allison, and Lydia were standing by a decorated and lit pine tree, a Douglas fir if Malia was right, Isaac and Kira were by the kitchen counter, surrounded by baking supplies and bare cookies on countless platters. Cora, Derek, Erica, and Boyd were all standing by the sofa, stepping closer to her, wearing festive sweaters. Even John, Stiles’ dad was walking up to the other side of Malia, placing a strong hand on her shoulder.

“Malia, you’re apart of this family. And we don’t leave family out.” John squeezed her shoulder, and stepped away from her.

She wasn’t sure what was processing through her at that moment, but Malia knew one this absolutely; she’d never felt like this before. She was over come with affection and love and care. She looked at her friends, her pack members, and her boyfriend, and all she could do was try not to let her emotions overcome her.

Before she could try and find words, Scott got all jumpy. “Can we show her the best part?” he asked giddy, looking at Stiles for approval.

“Hell yeah! Come on, Malia, I have something to show you.” He said, and started for the back porch of the house. Everyone followed, gathering around Malia as she walked out. His backyard looked normal: a lawn of grass, some patio furniture, an old play set from when Stiles was a boy, and a barbeque grill. “I don’t get it, what’s so gre-“

White specs formed in front of her. At first, one at a time, slowly falling, but then more at a time. Snow. It fell lightly, dancing around her head and hair with ease, melting as soon as it touched her skin, leaving wet spots. And even though her body temperature ran hot, she could feel the air around her feel cold. But when she looked up, there were in clouds. The California skies were clear and blue, and the sun was above them.

She shook her head in disbelief, and looked back at the group, now joinging her in the snowfall. “I don’t get it,” she said, holding her hand out to catch a flake, “It doesn’t snow in California.”

Kira stood by her side, pressing her chin on Malia’s shoulder to smile at her. “Deaton may have helped us in that department.” she replied, a light laugh following her.

She looked around at her family, and couldn’t believe how much she cared for this group of people. Not less than eight months prior, all Malia knew was how to be alone. And now, she had people who cared for her, loved her, and would die for her. And she was surprised to realize she felt the same to all of them.

“No one has ever done something like this for me.” she told them simply, her lips tugging into a smile.

“We’re your pack, Malia. We’re family. We’re always going to be here.” Allison chimed in this time, her smile as sweet as molasses.

“Even though you’re terrible at Trigonometry.” Lydia added, and Malia couldn’t help but laugh, because she couldn’t be truer.

Scott pushed Stiles forward, towards Malia. “Yeah, but this was all Stiles’ idea. He wouldn’t shut up about making you the happiest girl in the world and all.”

Stiles stumbled towards her from the push, his cheeks turning a bright crimson as he scratched the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes. “Hey, come on, it was nothing. I just, uh, I wanted this to be special for you, too.”

Malia’s small smile had turned into a full grin now as she looked at him, even though he was voiding her eyes altogether. Her fingers found his chin as she forced his head up and pressed her lips to his before he could try and talk his mouth off in defense. His lips were smooth and sweet, he probably had nipped at some of the cookies earlier. But kissing him always felt safe, and warm, and Malia wanted to keep kissing him. But, she knew when her limit was, and after a few seconds, she pulled away, her smile still intact when she saw his awed face and swollen lips.

“I’m going to take that as ‘I love it and you’re the best boyfriend ever’.” He said, he stupid, smug grin returning.

* * *

 

The rest of the night was spent together, the pack making and decorating cookies together, finishing decorating the tree, watching classic Christmas movies at the request of Lydia, and having a Christmas dinner together, and John even invited Malia’s dad to join them.

Malia had never felt so at home than at that moment, surrounded by all the people she cared about. Love and happiness radiated through the house and through her, and it was then, curled up at Stiles’ side with her feet tucked under her on the sofa, a blanket covering them both, mugs of hot chocolate in their hands, and surrounded by her pack and a fireplace, that was when she understood why Christmas was a holiday. It wasn’t for presents, or food, or an old man with a beard. It was meant for the chance to bring everyone you love close to you, all at once, and share that love and joy throughout each other.

 She belonged.

Later that night, after midnight when everyone went home to get some rest before the next day, Malia was still buzzing from emotions as she sat in her bedroom. That’s how she found herself at Stiles’ bedroom window a little after 3am, finding it unlocked like it usually always was for her.

By the sound of his heartbeat, he was already fast asleep, his breathing heavy and low. He didn’t rouse when she shut the window and locked it, and he didn’t rouse when she lifted his comforter and slid into the space next to him on the bed.

“Stiles,” he cooed, hoping to wake him, but nothing. “Stiles,” this time, drawn out longer. She was answered by incoherent mumbles and groans, Stiles turning his head to try and understand why he was being waken up, but when he finally noticed Malia, a sleepy smile spread across his face.

“Hey,” he muttered, blinking away sleep.

“Hey,” she said back, her smile small.

She didn’t need to say anything, and Stiles adjusted himself so that Malia could press to his body, his arm holding on to her waist, her head pressed to his chest. Most of the time, she preferred being the big spoon, with her front to his back and her arms wrapped around him, but right now she wanted nothing more than for him to just hold her, and remember that Stiles was there. She could hear his steady heartbeat, slowing as he was falling more out of consciousness.

“Thank you.” she found herself whispering, not even sure if it was audible.

“Anything for you.” he breathed, and the feeling of his lips pressed in her hair lulling her to sleep, eager to spend many more holidays just like that.


End file.
